


It's the Double Partner Dance, Baby!

by kurushi



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Compersion, Dancing, Falling In Love, Multi, Multiple Partners, Pining, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurushi/pseuds/kurushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cabanela felt something, his blood boiled, and it filled his arteries and his veins, and if he didn't move and cry out loud, something inside him would have burst. It wasn't even his wedding night, but Jowd and Alma's. It wasn't his place to be wearing his heart on his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Double Partner Dance, Baby!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



> My thanks to my beta Flamebyrd, who really helped pummel this into something readable. Any remaining errors or confusions are my own.

Cabanela's blood had always run hot. He'd swung between extremes at school, winning and losing. Gloating and sinking, despondent, into a dark corner. There was something about his feelings. They were maybe more tangible than everyone else's, that was how his child-mind made sense of it. When Cabanela felt something, his blood boiled, and it filled his arteries and his veins, and if he didn't move and cry out loud, something inside him would have burst.

 

In some ways, that made it worse. When he finally broke his own heart into two little pieces and gave them both away, Alma put a hand on Cabanela's shoulder, and said in her gentle way, “You're quiet tonight.”

 

In other ways, his physicality made life better. When he'd broken his heart, and was left with nothing left to call his own, his body had the muscle memory to carry on without missing a beat. He snapped his fingers, shrugged his shoulders, spun around and struck a pose. Jowd snorted, and said, “You have literally just danced yourself into a corner.”

 

The corner in question had white wallpaper with embossed designs on it. The carpet was an apricot orange, and Cabanela had a moment where he wished he could fade into the background and be no-one to them. A stranger, at a party, raising his glass in an unseen toast.

 

In response to both of them, Cabanela clapped his hands and said, “Oh yeah, baby!” Then he spun around, and didn't hide the moist quality that was just ever so sliiightly overcoming his eyesight. “Someone has to cry at a wedding, my friends, and, as it so happens, it would be completely unbelievable on such a proud groom,” he clapped a hand on Jowd's shoulder with his left hand. “Or on such a glowing bride,” he raised Alma's hand to his lips with his right hand.

 

They were poised there in a perfect, connected triangle for a moment. They laughed it off, and there were relatives pulling and tugging to say their own blessings, and bless Cabanela if he didn't have his bicycle waiting outside. He took an obligatory sip of the champagne, and when they were distracted, finally, he left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was something fresh about the first day of anything. Cabanela's first day in the detective division was something he'd been hoping and aiming for. He'd moved to a new apartment, he'd said goodbye to all of the streets he knew, and the world was full of promise. He had no knowledge of the people in this new area, which meant that he held no bias, no preconceptions. Well, not as many as the other detectives would. He'd be freer to follow his instinct, trusted as a real professional. He had ziploc bags in his coat pocket, and a space on his belt under his new white coat where a Maglite would sit just right.

 

He didn't have a pass, so he leaned his bike up against the front doors, and went to stroll inside.

 

“Leaving a bike like that unchained on a street like this... you're off your chain, young man.”

 

Cabanela cocked his head. Beside him, hands on his hips and looking up at the same worthy police station that he was about to become one with, was a heavy-set man in a pea-green coat. Curls on the top of his head, shorn close at the back. The man had a sense of style that seemed to be about ten years older than he was, though that wasn't unusual for the detectives Cabanela had worked with in the past.

 

“Oh-ho, yeees. I am off my chain, but that is irrelevant to the matter at hand! For I am a newly minted detective, and I will simply use my skills to find it again, if it does end up misappropriated!”

 

The guy chuckled, and shrugged. “Would you like me to watch it for you, while you register for your pass? You're the new guy, right?”

 

Cabanela raised an eyebrow. “Not the only one. I have at least one, if not more, companions.”

 

“You'll have to watch that mouth of yours,” the big fellow said with a kind smile.

 

Cabanela inhaled sharply, as something warm began to curl and coil, and his blood began to boil. Who did this man think he was?! He didn't look much older than Cabanela himself, for all that he was throwing his young man-s about.

 

“Accuracy. A detective can’t afford to be imprecise. Also, talking about operations to unauthorised personnel is against the rules. Name's Jowd, and I'm the other new detective, so you’re in luck. But I've been working in the building for a while, so I know my way around.”

 

“Jowd, eh? Cabanela.” Cabanela swept forwards into a deep bow. It paid to make a first impression.

 

Jowd smiled, warmly, and his thicker, warmer fingers grasped Cabanela's hand, shook it. He wrapped one hand around the handlebars, and nodded at the sliding doors. His curls shook, settled back into place. “Go on. I'll take this in through the security gate. I'll show you where it is at morning tea.”

 

Cabanela slapped the keys for his bike chain into Jowd's hand. “Alriiight, then! Let's see how up and standing the local boy is, huh? A real stickler for the rules. I bet that parking only in the staff zones is in the handbook, right?”

 

Jowd frowned. “There isn't a handbook,” he said in all seriousness.

 

“Suuure there isn't. People like you learn the rules just by feel, huh? It might be hidden up in gossip and little conversations with your chief in the hallway, but rules are rules, and you do it by the book, I can see that about you.”

 

“I don't have to help you, you know,” Jowd grinned, like they were already old friends. Broad and easy, a grin really suited his face.

 

Cabanela would have swooned, if this hadn't been work, and Jowd hadn't looked like the straightest most straight and narrow-minded, well-meaning people Cabanela had ever met. “You're in this for justice, and you're annoyed that I've been caught in a paradox. And I like it. The people who Do Things Right. I just do things well, and that gets me into all kinds of trouble.”

 

Jowd cocked his hip, and leaned closer. “You'll have to tell me about it, later. I'll buy you a drink when we're off-duty.”

 

Induction was a relatively normal experience. A middling senior detective opened doors and explained the contents of the rooms with short sentences. Personal lockers and changeroom. Evidence locker. Contraband locker. Tearoom. Cleaning supplies, don't touch please. Women's changeroom, do not enter. Temporary cells. Interview rooms, don't use the word interrogation. Security desk. Lobby.

 

Cabanela sat back and relaxed, after the tour. There were two levers on his chair, and he was determined to find a setting that was comfortable. At the desk beside him, Jowd was flicking through the emergency evacuation plan.

 

“What's up? Surely you've read that a thousand times,” Cabanela said.

 

“Yeah, every time I move desks. Saves me a lot of time.”

 

Cabanela rolled his eyes. “Who needs to read? It all makes sense to me! If there's an alarm, get out. Call security if there's a security issue. The evacuation point is first the stairwell, then the nearest external door. Assemble on the closest clear space that isn't the street itself.”

 

Jowd laughed, and said, “Huh.” He crossed his arms, which made his shirt pull tight against his broad chest. It seemed to be swelling, with each breath he took. He was a very big man. “I bet you were one of those smart jerks who never studied at school.”

 

Cabanela raised his hands in a theatrical surrender. “I can't help being amazing, baby.”

 

“Yeah, I bet you can't.” Jowd had probably been the kind of kid who'd sat at his desk right up until the end of the exam, pencil in hand, doing it right. It was the first time in his life that the idea of something so mundane, so boring, gave Cabanela a thrill.

 

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, okay, I'll give you that one,” Cabanela conceded the point, over a whisky. Jowd was belly-up to the bar, and Cabanela's knees were knocking against the sticky wood panelling. It had been a rough week. Cabanela had picked the wrong suspect, and only Jowd's meticulous chain of evidence had saved both their asses from the unemployment line.

 

“At least you were close?” Jowd did not seem very sympathetic. “I mean, ballpark close. You could have done worse. You could have tried to detain the bus driver.”

 

Cabanela hid a smile. “Oh, but I did. For all that you know.”

 

“Liar,” Jowd wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Warm, strong, and sweating the way that he only did when he was wearing that shirt. Blue, because it was laundry week.

 

And knowing these things was a tad creepy, and Cabanela knew he shouldn't pay attention to them. He sipped his drink, and hung his head. “You're a good man, Jowd. I'm... not. Not so much.”

 

Jowd jostled him, craned his neck in close, until his breath was fuming with spirits right near Cabanela's nose. “You made a mistake, it's human.”

 

“No, no. Not that. You're... it's like you're neutral. I can't. I try, but I get caught by a wind. I could smell the guilt on that man, I was so sure. Maybe, he was just the type that blames himself.”

 

“Or,” Jowd said, elbowing him in the side, “he is guilty, just not of murdering that kid.”

 

Nineteen year-old, male. Student. Knifed in the back on a bus full of people, no bloodstains on the chairs. Another student had been found, eventually, thanks to a scrap of fabric and Jowd's systematic questioning of the students in the victim's campus housing block. There had been towels soaked in blood, and a very good draft of a final paper found stashed in a garbage bag, in the bottom of a closet. A shaking young man, already regretting his crime.

 

“It had to be kids,” Cabanela swore under his breath, and took another sip of his drink. “My first murder case.”

 

“You found it hard?” Jowd was always hands-on. His palm was warm against Cabanela's bony shoulder.

 

“No. I found it surprisingly... intimate. All these traces of evidence, the signs that led us to that final answer, to the question we all wonder about, when somebody is killed. What is the difference between myself and the killer?”

 

Jowd snorted. “The big difference is that they intend harm.”

 

Cabanela rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know how the law assesses guilt. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about the line between pulling and not pulling the trigger. Maybe you have a good lunch, you have better motor control, so you're not a killer. Or, you're stressed about exams, and almost without thinking, you reach into the better student's backpack, knowing he'll have his final paper in the front pocket...”

 

Jowd shook his head. “I can't believe it. Good people don't just kill. There's a huge chasm between the person who steals a paper, and the one who knifes a classmate, and there is a moment that, even if they don't follow through, a person realises their ability to be a killer.”

 

Huh, interesting. “Are you saying you've been there, friend?”

 

Jowd shrugged. He laughed, looking almost normal, but it was all a little too smooth. There was something inside, that Jowd wasn't prepared to talk about. “I'm saying that nobody gets through basic training, in the force, without realising that truth about himself.”

 

Cabanela's holster didn't feel very heavy, but he could tell from the slump in his shoulders, Jowd's did, to him.

 

“Well, I don't like to count my chickens before they're hatched. And with that, down the hatch!” Cabanela swallowed around the burn of the liquor, closing his eyes. He sucked the last hint of it from his teeth, and set his glass down heavily. Threw an arm around Jowd's waist, to get him off his barstool easier. Ignored the warmth that burned in the crook of his elbow, the feeling of sweat from the small of Jowd's back.

 

“Come on, Jowd. Let's get you home so that you can be broody in private.”

 

 

* * *

 

Drinks for the two of them meant the bar between the police station and the train station. Drinks with the team meant that they walked further, to end up somewhere a little bigger and a lot busier. Jowd ordered their usuals, which drew a few sniggers from the corner of their table.

 

“If you wanted to buy me a drink, Andy, you should have flirted harder! Apparently my TAB is already spoken for, now.” Humour was the best way to head that kind of thing off at the pass, right? That got a genuine laugh from everyone. They hadn’t moved past the awkward-workplace-smiles stage of rapport in their office, so Cabanela considered himself a workplace hero.

 

Jowd’s eyes met his, and Cabanela had never seen somebody not roll their eyes at him quite like that. What, like it was Cabanela's fault that he was so fabulous!

 

“Are you seeing anyone?” the waitress leaned over when she put their drinks on the table, and a couple of the guys chuckled and looked. But she was talking to Jowd, who was proper and respectable, and who barely needed to open his mouth, to tell Cabanela what he was thinking. She was out of luck, baby!

 

“I’d have to be blind not to,” Jowd said playfully. Smooth. Leaning into her space, thanking her for the drinks.

 

Blood rushed through Cabanela’s ears. He hadn’t been trying to read anything into anything, but he had been. He hadn’t been able to stop himself. Jowd was so likeable, so reliable, so lovely. Cabanela had forgotten that most people had a lot more going on than right here, right now. When Cabanela had a quiet part of his mind dwelling on the size of Jowd’s muscles, Jowd had a corresponding part of his own mind that was calculating the curve of a woman’s hips.

 

Feelings of disappointment and surprise churned in Cabanela’s stomach, but it was the oppressive guilt over that feeling that encased his feet in lead, and made his blood run cold. What was he, a spoiled whiny child, or a good friend? He couldn’t cope with a buddy flirting in a bar?

 

“I need a hobby,” Cabanela muttered to himself. Something enjoyable. Something that took him away from his desk before he could ask Jowd to dinner, again, because one day Jowd would be asking a woman to dinner. By that time, Cabanela needed to be less fixated. He wasn’t going to let a little twinge of the heart stand in the way of solving cases, or the most important friendship he’d ever had. Something that took his mind off the sour taste in his mouth, and the way his hands itched to reach out under the table and grab Jowd’s thigh. Honestly. Did Cabanela want to get a fist in the face? Or worse, an empathic rejection? Hell no, baby. He was way too stylish to put his hands where they weren’t wanted.

 

The next time that Jowd smirked knowingly and invited Cabanela to that bar, Cabanela had an excuse at the ready.

 

“So sorry, I can't possibly miss my dance class!”

 

 

* * *

 

Dance had been a great idea. He'd thought when he signed up that something flamboyant and flashy would be fun. A tango, maybe. But as big as the city was, there were only a few dance studios within his area and within his budget. It had come down to a choice between ballet and beginner's Latin dance class. Cabanela swung up to his first session with a bounce in his feet. The instructor, an energetic short woman in her thirties, clapped her hands together and welcomed him with open arms. She had been expecting him, of course. He had taken a page out of Jowd's book, and called in advance.

 

“Finally, we have even numbers! This will be good, we can do more partner work!”

 

Beyond the instructor, there were five people dressed in exercise clothing. Sweatpants and t-shirts. He felt overdressed in his white suit and well-shined shoes. He toed them off and folded his jacket, and looked to the rest of the class. He'd never learned to dance in a group, in such a formalised way, but it wasn't too difficult to see where he'd fit, at the lopsided back end of two lines of four.

 

“You can put your things over there, and let's all get started on the warmups.”

 

Stretching down to his toes, Cabanela turned his head, and caught sight of a wisp of pale hair falling out of a ponytail holder. An even paler, long and bony hand tucking it back into place. The woman standing in line beside him had a calm stillness to her.

 

He turned to the front, didn't want to be rude, but he hoped he'd get partnered with her, at some point. As a young man, he had always danced because his energy, his emotions felt uncontrollable if he did not. She seemed to be quiet. The precise and smooth way she moved her feet, how she seemed untouchable in a room full of not-quite-right amateurs.

 

He tried to focus on the class. Get to know the look and rhythm of all the others. But it was a little too easy, and as he knelt to put his shoes back on at the end of the lesson, he looked up to catch her watching him with curiosity.

 

It was like seeing an echo of himself, in that instant. No, not quite. More like recognising that in the dances that people made around each other, both he and she were in step. They knew the moves, that they both knew what to do next.

 

She approached him, and he finished tying his laces. She clasped her hands behind her back, coyly. “I'm the newest, relatively speaking. So we'll probably be partnered.” She smiled, and it didn't spread across her face, but every millimetre that it did seemed to carry more significance than was usual.

 

“Weeell, in that case!” Cabanela jumped up so that he could cross his legs over and bow low with a hand pressed flat to his chest. “I am Cabanela, and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

She giggled, and nodded. Her wisp of hair came loose again. “Right. I'm Alma. Pasa doble?”

 

He frowned. “Er, now?”

 

She laughed, which flared her nose a little more than the giggle, but it was only obvious because he was watching her marble-smooth face so intently. “No. I mean, you're a bit above and beyond this class. What have you done?”

 

He smirked, shrugged. He'd been caught in the act of being stylish. He could accept that guilty sentence, he supposed. “Flamenco, but only very casually, I'll have you know. Just a little boy, playing around at home in his father's old shoes. I'm no professional.”

 

She hmmed, and placed her hand thoughtfully over her upper lip. A very controlled, reserved, shy thinker's pose. A woman who had her own secrets.

 

“Ballet,” he guessed.

 

“Close,” she smiled. “If you can figure it out by our next class, I'll buy you dinner.”

 

Oh. Through the heart! Pierced like an arrow. She felt cool and precise in there, and he pressed a hand to his breast as he watched her take her slow deliberate steps out through the door. He'd wondered, for a long time. If the huge warmth of Jowd would leave any space for anyone else. But either Cabanela's heart was growing, or Jowd was accommodating. Warm, rough hands. Cool, light refined polished nails. Broad shoulders. Slender ankles. As long as he looked and did not touch, Cabanela could adore them both.

 

 

* * *

 

Cabanela had forgotten how good it felt. Exercise for the job, or on the job, left a body feeling healthier but tired. Moving for the sheer joy of it? Rejuvenating! There was a spring in his step, as he turned the familiar corner, navigated around the fire hydrant, and swiped into the secure parking.

 

He skipped the first step up, and crossed his feet over on the second. Pivoted at the third and top step before the door to the station, looking out across the parking lot. The sun was just beginning to warm the concrete and brick that blocked out the horizon. The sounds of rush hour were only just beginning to start up. He'd have taken a deep breath in, if only there wasn't a trash can right next to him.

 

Cabanela felt the rhythm of the world echo in his bones the whole morning. It was a CCTV day; a day with no outstanding homicide cases, when the grunt work that piled up during urgent investigations was finally attended to. Cabanela worked through thefts and assaults, checking recovered CCTV footage from the areas around the incident. It was like squinting at the world through a teeny glass that was smeared all over with grease. Fuzzy. Low quality. You really just sat there, hoping that a blob that resembled the suspect came along while you weren't yawning. It usually sent Cabanela straight to sleep, but the muscles in his feet were waking up and remembering how to dance.

 

“Stop it,” Jowd muttered. He couldn't see under Cabanela's desk, he was just guessing.

 

“Stop whaaat?” Cabanela tapped his fingers on his desk, and paused the footage so that he wouldn't miss anything while he was being interrupted by Jowd.

 

“Stop tapping your feet, it's distracting.” Like usual, Jowd had a smile in his voice.

 

“It's not my fault if I can't control my feet. You know me. When I feel anything, it comes right out.”

 

“And today, you're feeling like a twinkle-toes, right.” Jowd snorted.

 

“Heeey! There's nothing wrong with being a dancer. Especially not if I get partnered with her again.” Cabanela was never sure why he said that. Did he want to prove he was normal to Jowd? Or what? His head was too full of things. He wanted to feel his hand braced against Alma's shoulder, see her smile over a missed step. He wanted to sit in a restaurant and sip water while he watched Jowd order a second course. He wasn't having an easy time understanding the rest of the things that were going on in his heart.

 

“You're dancing with a partner,” Jowd said, his voice suddenly flat and cold. “A woman.”

 

“Ye-ees,” Cabanela said. He'd been hoping, coasting on joy all night and morning, to tell Jowd all about it. The colour of her hair, her elegance and the way he was in awe of her inner peace. It all turned to ashes in his mouth. His feet fell still under his desk, heavy and hollow. His knees felt wobbly and relaxed, and if the building had been on fire, he wouldn't have been able to run to save his life.

 

“Well,” Jowd said. Something creaked, like a hand clenched around a pen too tightly. “And this is just once a week, right?”

 

“Right,” Cabanela clicked, and started the CCTV footage playing again. “Just once a week.”

 

Jowd didn't speak again until lunch, where he was all warmth and smiles again. Cabanela felt like he had whiplash. Like the rug had been pulled out from under him, and there had been pill bugs and spiders living beneath it. Where had all of that come from, and where did it go to? There was a small and ugly part of Cabanela, inside his gut, that curled in pleasure. He tried to pretend that none of it had happened. Not Jowd reacting so poorly. Not his secret desperate joy that even if Jowd didn't desire Cabanela, he loved him deeply enough to be gruesomely jealous.

 

Dinner was pretty normal. Jowd smiled and joked and ate, and Cabanela's poise sank back into his bones like it had never left him weak-kneed at an office desk. That morning was going to become one of those little uncomfortable things, that Cabanela zipped up inside himself and ignored for the rest of his life.

 

 

* * *

 

Alma, however. He had no satisfying answer to the question of what dance she'd started out with. He guessed modern, he guessed acrobatics, he guessed ballroom in general, a kind of cover-all last ditch effort. She just smirked and hid her clever sharp eyes behind her perfect mask of self-control.

 

With her left hand in his, her right arm outside his left making a perfect frame, she was unbelievable. Her body spoke to him with pressure and the suggestions of movement. Her form was perfect, her face was schooled into a very textbook shape of emotion.

 

“Since you couldn't guess, I'm afraid that dinner will be on you.” She flicked her heel up in a flair, and swung her leg back around to resume the walking step.

 

He could live with that. “Suuure, baby. Just as sure as I am, you've danced this tango before.”

 

A flicker of emotion, the first he'd ever seen that betrayed something that burned inside her. He couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at anything else but her, for the rest of his life. He wanted to witness every subtle quiet change in her expression. To understand what she felt, to know how her normally still features weathered the gamut of human emotions.

 

“I... was never passionate enough to make it through a competition.” She turned her face away from him, so that he couldn't see her eyes. The pain in her voice, he couldn't imagine how, surely her brow must be furrowed in despair, her lips parted from the ache in her gut. By the sound of her voice, quiet and tight, he knew she was being moved by her emotion.

 

“No amount of skill was enough. Even you, you mistook me for what? Ballet? I'm too cold, inside. That's what my partner told me.”

 

They finished their dance. Free to go, end of the night. He held a hand out to her with flair, once they had gathered their things. With a tired smile, she took it. On the street, she swung their joined hands between them.

 

“I'm not cold inside. I think that I just don't have destructive passion. I'd like a kind man, a gentle and just soul. I'd be happy marrying and raising a child. I can't imagine raising my voice in anger or the heat of the moment. It's just...”

 

She shrugged one shoulder, her cotton shirt shifting against her skin. With the sweat from the dance, and the humidity of the summer evening, she smelled like lavender and sunlight. Something sunk inside Cabanela. Of course, he'd found another person to long after from afar. Someone he was poorly suited to.

 

“I'm,” he whispered, so quiet that she did not hear him above her own thoughts. Which was great, really, because it was a teeeny bit weird, realising that he was falling for her, and that it didn’t change anything about how he felt for Jowd.

 

“I still feel too young. I don't know if this is just who I am, or if I just haven't met the right person. If finding heartbreak will make me a better dancer, or if I was a fool to ever try for anything.”

 

“Weeell, in flamenco, often, you don't start getting good until you're in your thirties, fifties! Some people think that you need maturity, to be able to carry the weight of such feelings.”

 

Alma nodded. She squeezed Cabanela's hand in her own. “So, dinner. I hope you know how to show a girl a good time.”

 

 

* * *

 

Cabanela was done looking over the house before Jowd was. He scribbled his thoughts in his notepad, and snapped his fingers to get Jowd’s attention.

 

“If I’m right, you owe me a drink. If you’re right, you won’t owe me anything for lunch.”

 

Cabanela brushed Jowd’s coat to the side, so that he could slip the notepad into Jowd’s shirt pocket.

 

“You’re kidding, right? You’re betting on the outcome of a case.” Jowd took a step back, and straightened his coat.

 

“Oh! I’ll just get ham and cheese, then.”

 

Jowd sighed, and pinched his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Get chicken boxes, from the good convenience store. A man can’t live on ham and cheese sandwiches!” They were getting too familiar with the take-out in the area.

 

Cabanela chuckled as he skipped out the door and past the forensic specialist. He’d count that as one free pass out of boredom central.

 

They ate their lunch in the park, looking out over the city. Cabanela mostly talked, and Jowd mostly ate both of their lunches.

 

“I nearly kicked my dance partner last night,” Cabanela confessed with a grin.

 

Jowd grunted. His eyes gleamed, a sure sign that there had been something witty to say, if only there had not been food to finish first.

 

“We had been switching lead, you see. So it’s not entirely my fault. On the other hand, she would never make this kind of mistake.”

 

Jowd gave Cabanela a look that seemed to mean, I’ve seen you at crime scenes, and work. Always skipping the important bits. Which, all right. Fiiine.

 

“So then we both went left, and without losing a beat, she not only avoided being stepped on by me, but she made it look deliberate. And she came up to me later, telling me that she had this big secret she wanted to share with me.”

 

Jowd waved a hand. Go on. He kept chewing.

 

“She told me, Alma did, that the reason we’d slipped up is that between us we have two left feet!”

 

Cabanela clapped his hands together, and rocked back with laughter. Jowd just snorted so hard, he nearly choked on his chicken.

 

 

* * *

 

He only owed her one dinner, but it became a habit. Slow walks from the small dance studio down the street, the city sky dusky with haze, lit up by the streetlights. The comforting sounds of police sirens in the night, knowing people were out and doing their good work. Both of them dressed up a little nicer than they had been that first week. That delicious game of knowing glances and unspoken intentions.

 

Contrary to his expectations - fine tablecloths, matching silverware, cloth napkins - Alma insisted on Italian. Small tables, with bright and unmatching tablecloths. Thick stoneware plates, and hearty wine glasses. A chef who came out from the kitchen and embraced her.

 

“Well, I do love the dramatic tension of a lively kitchen!”

 

Alma gave him a funny look.

 

“No, I mean it! Last week, we were working on this case. Me and my partner. Something fishy had been going on, with a high-end restaurant’s salmon supply. When we inspected the kitchen, it was obviously a fake. Empty cupboards, only clean dishes, no stains on the floors. No oyster shucker.”

 

Alma nodded with tight lips that quirked up on either side. She pressed a curious finger to the side of her nose. “And every self-respecting kitchen needs an oyster shucker. Why, what if you wanted to shuck something? Shucks!”

 

“Heh. And that is exactly, almost to the syllable, what my partner said. Shucks, he said. This place claims to supply the hotel upstairs with room service meals, and it is the only kitchen in the building, and we know that oysters were ordered and received in room 501.”

 

Cabanela was waiting for the groan. He’d groaned, because you could see this joke coming from a mile away, and when Jowd had led into it during the case, well. Jowd had a booming voice and a large presence. There was no escaping it.

 

“So my partner, he said. Detective Cabanela! We’ve got to find the shuckers that did this!”

 

Alma smiled, huffed out her breath in a little laugh that she hid behind her palm. She seemed delighted, rather than appalled. It tickled something warm and feverish lurking within Cabanela’s chest. He didn’t feel hungry anymore. She set her cutlery down without finishing her meal.

 

"You'd like my friend. You'd get on like a house on fire! I really should introduce you!"

 

Alma nodded, blushed. She gave Cabanela's plate a pointed glance. "You should finish that," she said.

 

"Ahh, that's another reason you'll definitely prefer him to me! Why, if Jowd were here, he'd have polished off his own plate in record time, and taken care of your leftovers! You and I, we're too alike."

 

He's feeling it, thinking it, even as she says it. She was just teasing, though, and he knew it was true, deep down in his gut.

 

"It sounds like you're trying to get rid of me," she joked, smirked, and took a sip of her wine.

 

Cabanela raised his glass in a silent toast to her, to Jowd, and to the two most beautiful people on this earth, having a long future ahead of them. Beautiful children. He found it hard to tell where the painful ache in his heart twisted and turned into this radiant joy and awe. But it did. Even breaking his heart, it would be worth it.

 

He held the door of the cab open for her, and waved her off before unlocking his bike chain and brushing his coat out behind himself.

 

 

* * *

 

Drinks after work. It was the easiest way to introduce them. "Dress nicely, I want you to look good when you meet Alma," Cabanela nagged Jowd. "Change your shirt, you've got splatter from the crime scene all over yourself!"

 

The scene of the crime in question had been a puddle, in a park. A young girl had splashed Jowd as she'd rode past them. Some days it just did not pay to go out for a coffee.

 

Jowd had raised an eyebrow, and shrugged. Instead of shoving Cabanela away, he pulled a clean shirt out of his locker. He let Cabanela fuss all over him, only catching his hand when Cabanela had finished straightening his collar.

 

"What's this all about, really?" Jowd was a sharp one.

 

"I'm getting you ready to go out there and steal my girl!" Cabanela announced grandly. "You're a sure thing, baby!"

 

Jowd frowned. "I'm not the kind of man who does that. If I want you to punch me, I know all I've got to do is insult your shoes."

 

Cabanela patted him hard on the back, manly style, with panache, as he turned away to attend to his own appearance. "Yes! That's the style! Ready your insults, my friend! Prepare to become rivals in love, as well as work! I want only the best for my Alma!"

 

"Whatever you say, you madman," Jowd muttered. "If there's a second woman when we get there, I'm going to dump you, you know that.”

 

Cabanela pressed his hand to his chest dramatically. The first time he'd ever done so, without actually feeling the drama inside. “Oh, you break my heart!” But Jowd could never break his heart. He'd be so beautiful, so wonderful next to Alma. They would be happy together, and just imagining it filled Cabanela with such sweetness that his fingertips tingled and his eyes watered.

 

“I'd sure like to break something of yours,” Jowd said, with good humour. He slipped into his coat, and slammed his locker door shut. “So, where is this place?”

 

Cabanela led the way. “You'll like it. Elegant without being too expensive. A very humble menu. Chicken, that's pretty much it. But it's nice and close, just around the corner.”

 

Alma was already there, when they arrived. Cabanela would have liked to linger near the door, and watch his two favourite people lay eyes upon each other, recognise each other, fall instantly in love. Instead, Jowd lingered near the door, eyeing the menu with suspicion.

 

“This really is just chicken, isn't it?”

 

Alma smiled and waved, and spent far more time than she should just sitting and waiting for them to join her. And so Cabanela had to hook his arm in Jowd's and tug, hard, and hiss out of the corner of his mouth, “We can't keep her waiting, baby!”

 

“I don't think it's a baby that she's waiting for,” Jowd grumbled, but he followed along readily enough.

 

Alma wasn't just cool, she was ice cold, smiling thinly as she shook Jowd's hand. “So, you're the detective that I've heard so much about.”

 

“And you must be the dancer,” Jowd said.

 

“Great!” It was like a cold war at their table. “I just knew you two would get along like a house on fire!”

 

They ordered their wine, they ordered their food, they sat in what was possibly the most uncomfortable dinner party in the history of all humanity.

 

“So, how was your day?” Alma placed a hand deliberately over Cabanela's own, and leaned in so she was speaking more to him, than to Jowd.

 

“Oh, it was juuust fine, baby. Jowd! Why don't you tell the story?”

 

Jowd unfolded his napkin, and tucked it into his collar. Alma wrinkled her nose. Though Jowd leaned in to Cabanela to speak, his eyes never left Alma's face.

 

Had Cabanela been wrong? Had he seriously been completely misreading both of his dear friends?

 

“Ignore this one. He's so excitable that even a trip out for coffee seems like a trip to the moon.”

 

“Heey!” Cabanela was ready to break the ice, to engage in a bit of friendly teasing, but then he stopped, and settled back in his chair.

 

Alma had let go of his hand, to cover her mouth. She was giggling, blushing. Eyes only for Jowd and his goofy grin. Jowd unconsciously leaned in towards her, conspiratorially. “I'd tell you about what he does in the locker room, but I'm afraid that's not fit for polite company.”

 

Electric. The look that passed between them was pure chemistry. Things were going to be just fiiine.

 

 

* * *

 

Once Jowd and Alma had met, routine changed. As soon as dance class was over, Alma was running out to meet Jowd for dinner. Instead of suggesting that they get take-out and work through dinner, Jowd was slinging his coat over his shoulder and clocking out at five P.M. on the dot. Cabanela wasn't the one with a spring in his step, and everything was as it should be.

 

Sometimes, they convinced him to join them. Which was marvellous fun, of course! All three of them, they got along. But there were, increasingly, moments. Kisses. Touches. Cabanela wasn't sure if it was feeling the deepest loss and the greatest joy in the same heartbeat, or the effort that it took to keep it from them, but his hands lost their rhythm. His heart still beat in regular time, but he couldn't hear it. Couldn't feel it.

 

He poked at it, as life progressed. That odd confused numbness inside himself. They closed more cases at work. Lucky for them, there was drug crime and there were violent deaths, and a lot of exciting things that looked very nice indeed on their records.

 

“Spotless,” Jowd said, brushing some dust off of Cabanela's white trousers. Cabanela felt a spark of something, and then, that disconcerting nothingness.

 

He tasted it alone with Alma, as she turned her face up into the sun, enjoying the brightness of spring. “Do you think that the weather will be good, this summer?”

 

She'd already picked out her dress. Nice shoes. Flowers. “If it rains on the wedding day of my two best friends, I will peeersonally reach up into the sky and shoo the clouds away!”

 

When she laughed, and wrapped a hand around his arm, he nearly gave in to the impulse to kiss her on the forehead. Instead, he held himself back, feeling that lurching desire bleached dry in the brilliant sunlight.

 

He spent more time at home, alone, the closer that the wedding came. Staring down at his hands, and wondering what was wrong with himself.

 

“Overstimulation?” It was worth considering. Too much joy, too much pain, too much longing, too much love. “Maybe I ruptured something.”

 

Or, maybe, when you applied force in one direction, and also in the other, you ended up with a stationary object. He'd always been more about instinct than physics, but when he rolled a grape around on his kitchen table, squeezing it between two fingers, watching the skin split, maybe that was it. Just time, was what he needed. To see Jowd and Alma off on their honeymoon, to wait for them to cocoon themselves in wedded bliss. If he didn't see them as often, perhaps, his heart would be able to properly break and he'd be able to move on.

 

The phone rang. Alma. “If you don't come tonight, Cabanela, I swear. It's hard enough to get him to practice the dance at all, let alone without you!”

 

He crushed the grape in frustration, because the emptier he felt inside, the harder it was to resist their pull. Like a moth. He flew to join them, and when he came too close, he was burned by their glorious glow. He washed his hands, and got his bike out.

 

 

* * *

 

If Cabanela was a natural mover, and Alma had the grace and poise of a true dancer, Jowd had the military precision of a marching band. Cabanela watched Jowd step in time to the count, and had the sinking feeling that the steel rod up his ass that kept him in line at work ran right down through his legs, locking his knees and pinning his feet to the ground.

 

“You’ve got to feel the music, it’s not all about the rules.”

 

Jowd laughed, and raised his hands in defeat. “Maybe you should do the first dance without me. I’m allowed a second, right?”

 

Alma smiled gently, and reached up, drew Jowd’s hands back down to rest on her shoulder and at her waist. “That’s duelling, sweetheart, not dancing.”

 

Jowd shrugged, smirking. “Still a D, right? That’s close enough.”

 

Cabanela danced rings around them, partly to show off, but mostly so that Jowd couldn’t pass Alma off into his arms. “Riiight. And if you shoot your bride, the guests will be delighted. What a show! I can see the headlines, now. Cop Kills Wife!”

 

Alma giggled, but Jowd scowled. “It’s not my fault that the waltz is so… waltzy. It’s like it was made to strike slow, awkward fear into the hearts of the common people.”

 

Cabanela snorted. What a way to put it. “It is true, when you get a move wrong in slow motion, it lasts much longer. I prefer a dance with a bit of spirit, myself.”

 

Alma raised a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Swing?”

 

They looked at each other, then at Jowd, who looked back at them with a blank expression.

 

“Not swing,” Cabanela rolled his shoulders, tapped his feet. “Flamenco? Maybe all the stomping would work for his heavy feet?”

 

“Dubstep?” Alma was surely joking. She had her face turned towards Jowd, so Cabanela couldn’t see.

 

Jowd’s guffaw was enough of a hint, though. Cabanela sighed, and faced the window. “You are both playing me, aren’t you?” He didn’t mind it one bit, but he tried to sound put-out.

 

“Let’s try swing,” Alma said. “We can work on the basics today, and then you and I can write some very easy choreography with our teacher in class.”

 

Jowd frowned. “That’s the one where everyone jumps over everyone, right?”

 

Alma was all giggles, apparently. Cabanela nearly melted, seeing how happy Jowd made her, how much more open she was, the closer the wedding grew.

 

“It’s the one where the men offer basic support while the women flounce a lot, if you like. What matters most, is that Alma will be moving so fast, nobody will notice if you miss a step. Here, we’ll show you.”

 

Cabanela trailed a hand over Alma’s shoulder, as he approached her from behind. She raised her hands from Jowd, to hold onto Cabanela, twisting to face him. Cabanela performed a very basic step, and Alma swayed. She twisted, turned, and leaned into a dip. Cabanela let his arm curve around her lower back, to support her.

 

“See? Even you could do it! With me for a teacher, you can’t possibly fail!”

 

Jowd frowning, that’s what Cabanela expected. But instead there was this wistful, dreamy look in his eyes. Cabanela hadn’t ever picked Jowd for the type to get emotional about weddings. He let go of Alma, and reached a hand out to draw Jowd back towards her.

 

“So to begin with, the frame you’ll make with your arms should be easy to handle.”

 

Alma smiled and helped Jowd to settle his hands on her, while Cabanela took a good, close look at Jowd’s posture.

 

“Relax your knees, and ah, let’s do a touch and step.” Cabanela stood beside them, so he could demonstrate. “So you just use your toes like a cat, thinking about a goldfish in a pond. You touch, lightly with your toes, and then you step back onto your heel.”

 

“Not a damn cat,” Jowd said, but he seemed to pick it up a lot easier than the 1-2-3.

 

“And because you’re going faster, if you mess up, there’s a bunch of steps, so they’ll just think you meant to do that. You can’t lose, baby!”

 

Alma winked at Cabanela over Jowd’s shoulder. Heaven only knew what things were going to be like, when they tried to teach a whole routine.

 

 

* * *

 

Every now and then, Alma brought lunch to the station. She showed up in cotton sundresses with huge broad-brimmed hats, and she usually brought a picnic basket. She had started bringing other things, though. Folders, magazines. Samples. Alma had style, and Jowd Did Things Properly, so between them, getting married was less like a fairytale romance, and more like planning a very fashionable raid.

 

Cabanela would kick his heels as Alma laid out the blanket, and Jowd unrolled the seating plans.

 

“You know, if you kids want some privacy, just say the word and I’ll…”

 

Jowd started to protest, but it was Alma who grabbed Cabanela’s arm and yanked him down.

 

“Sit,” she said. “You’re the only neutral party we’ve got, to settle disputes.”

 

Cabanela would, honestly, rather die than be their mediator. His chest puffed out with pride in spite of this. He, Cabanela, was their most important and trusted person.

 

“Weeell, my gut instinct does tend to be spot on. You have to be born with this kind of talent, baby.”

 

Jowd peeled Alma’s hand away from Cabanela’s arm. The wind blew right through his shirt, chilled his skin where her human warmth had been. “Well, they sure don’t teach it at the academy.”

 

It was said in good humour, but Alma still slapped Jowd on the shoulder. “Jowd!”

 

“I mean it!” Instead of arguing with her, he turned to Cabanela with sudden solemnity. You got that a lot, with him. You thought it was all laughter, but then this weight descended over everyone’s shoulders, with one look from Jowd. “I don’t know where I’d be today, without your unorthodox approach to life. I need you to be a part of this.”

 

Jowd wrapped an arm around Alma’s shoulders, and she leaned into him. Unorthodox. Was that the word for it?

 

“We need you,” Alma said. “Besides. Without you, I’d still be losing my best toes to the worst waltz on the planet.”

 

Cabanela shrugged. “I’m sure you could have figured it out.”

 

Alma cocked her head gently, her eyes smiled. “I’m sure we couldn’t have. Look, we can’t even make a basic decision without you. We keep fighting over it.”

 

Cabanela was genuinely confused. “But the two of you never fight!”

 

Jowd gave Alma a look whose meaning escaped Cabanela, and ran one of his large hands over her hair. “What she’s trying to say, is that we had a fight over you. Best man, or Maid of Honour. Who would get to sit next to you at the reception.”

 

Alma sighed, and turned her face to Cabanela, open and optimistic. “So we were hoping you’d be able to help us settle it.”

 

Cabanela raised his hands. “Nooo, I can’t make a choice like that! Are you asking me to guess which of you I prefer, or which of you has stronger feelings for me? I can’t do it!”

 

“Not even a gut feeling?”

 

“I think you should go with the pearl,” Cabanela tried to derail her. “Over the green.”

 

 

* * *

 

He left the reception early. The wedding had been the best moment of his life. Their beautiful faces, the soft promise of a future in their joined hands. But the reception was hell. All of their family, some friends from work. Mostly people that Cabanela had never met. Alma and Jowd were busy being congratulated, all over, and there was nothing for Cabanela but the drinks, and the worry in their faces when they caught him. He'd have left a lot sooner, if they hadn't kept on finding him, wrapping their arms around him, smelling sweet with perfume and aftershave and flowers, and all of the special things that you wore for a wedding.

 

He barely made it a block on his bicycle, before Jowd overtook him. Cabanela pulled up, called out after him. “Where are you going? If you want to race me, I have to warn you, I'll overtake you the second I start trying, baby.”

 

Jowd folded over, hand on his stomach, catching his breath. “I just, I can't. I've got two left feet, and both of them weigh a hundred pounds.”

 

Cabanela frowned. “So, you're leaving my darling Alma, alone, because you have cold left feet? You know this dance.”

 

Jowd shook his head. “It's, I can't. I can't dance with her, in front of all these people. Her friends!”

 

Cabanela wasn't going to let this dear moron ruin his own big day. He wrapped his fingers as far around Jowd's biceps as he could, and stepped right into his space. Spoke as calmly as he was able. “You're fine, this will be just like in practice. You'll make her happy. Everything will be perfect.”

 

Jowd's breath shook, as he leaned his weight into Cabanela. “It won't be the same, ever again. You're not there.”

 

Something sharp and hot flared in Cabanela's chest, but there really wasn't time for that. Alma's heart, and her pride, and saving face with her family, these were important. The dance was important. “Sure I'm here. Just look at me, see? Riiight here.”

 

Jowd was nodding. Cabanela coaxed him back. Slung an arm around Jowd's broad shoulders, and kept talking.

 

“See? Here we go, now. I was meaning to go. I had a very important date with a very good book, but I'm going to risk upsetting my book, letting chapter ten down, just to stay here with you.”

 

Jowd took a deep breath through his nose, and took slow, steady steps.

 

“Honestly, I'm curious. I've been helping her train you, all these months. You'll only dance well if I've taught you properly, and I really want to see how my handiwork holds up.”

 

“You're an arrogant jerk,” Jowd said. His back straightened a little.

 

“Guilty as charged, baby!” Cabanela felt saved, when he saw Alma standing at the door, watching them approach. She stepped up beside Cabanela, as if she trusted him more with Jowd than she did herself.

 

Alma whispered in Cabanela's ear, which was very distracting when he was trying to convince Jowd to do it. She had some crazy ideas, too, that girl. As if making the dance more complicated, was going to help Jowd agree to anything.

 

“We've practised these steps so many times, my friend. All you have to do is go out there, and do what you've learned.”

 

Jowd held onto Cabanela's hand tightly, engulfing his fingers in the slipper sweat of the desperate.

 

“Listen to Cabanela,” Alma pulled away from Cabanela, pressed her hand to Jowd's jawline, which made her fingers look short and small and dainty.

 

“Alma and I, we're pros! You can just dance and take it eeeasy, buddy. We'll work around you, with you. We'll all dance, the three of us. It'll be fuuun.”

 

Jowd looked uncertain, so Cabanela shrugged and raised an eyebrow. “I can always take the lady's role, if that helps.”

 

Jowd blinked. “Really?”

 

Alma smacked Cabanela on the shoulder. He grinned in response.

 

“Come on. My heart was breaking, thinking about you two kids going off on your own without me. One dance, Detective.”

 

Jowd froze, eyes wide. “Your heart? Without you?! But-”

 

Alma pressed a finger to Jowd's lips, and some kind of secret couple-y message was transmitted between them. Oh, it had already started. If he was a more dramatic man, Cabanela would have pressed a tragic hand to his forehead, and cried at the pain and the beauty of their love.

 

“Later,” she said.

 

Jowd nodded. They were both looking at Cabanela like he'd grown horns on his head. “Do I need to check, to see if I have turned into some kind of alien? What's the matter, my dears?”

 

Jowd closed his eyes, and let go of Cabanela's hand. “Let's get it over with, then,” he said. But his tone was affectionate. His shoulders were relaxed. He was happy, and ready, and Cabanela felt like he'd been left out of some great epiphany. A third wheel on a bicycle.

 

To cover for that feeling, Cabanela strode out into the dance floor. With relief, the Master of Events announced the first dance. Cabanela held out both hands, arms open, as Alma held her hand out, and Jowd remembered enough of their lessons to reach out for hers.

 

Alma winked at Cabanela over Jowd's shoulder, and as the music started, and as Cabanela began to step to the music, mimicking Jowd's well rehearsed pattern, he spared a thought for all of the people in their families, watching, who would have no idea why a fellow with a cock's comb of hair and a sharp white suit was shadowing the bridal couple.

 

To be fair, Cabanela had very little idea himself. But Jowd was spinning Alma, and Alma was stepping just a little further to the right than usual, and Cabanela's hands were reaching out automatically to settle into the right position. Right next to him, Jowd was copying what Cabanela had just done, keeping to the plan, without a woman in his arms.

 

Most couples waltzed, but they were going to really get the festivities swinging! It really had been the right decision; Alma could show off her skills, while Jowd could escape with relatively little theatrics. But from the light in Alma's eyes, Cabanela wasn't going to get away with that. He had skills, and she was going to put them to the test, working around the two of them. Cabanela stepped aside first, spinning her into Jowd's arms, stepping around so that she was framed between the two of them.

 

He caught Jowd's eyes, and a feeling hit him, deep in his gut. He swallowed tightly, noticing Jowd noticing him. If Cabanela had been able to love two people, why, he wondered, had he assumed this whole time, that nobody else could?

 

Alma let her weight sink back towards him. Cabanela wrapped his arms around her, guided her into a spin. Took her weight as she stretched her leg up. Showoff. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she just held onto him gently but firmly.

 

They were amazing. Cabanela was a bit shocked by it all, and the rest of the dance just kind of slipped past him, without his head noticing. It was like his heart had cleared out like a stiff neck after a massage. Like pained sinuses after a hot herbal tea. He was supposed to be with these people. He was a man who was moved by his emotions, and the purest expression of this had to be laughing, smiling, with an arm around both Alma and Jowd's waists, their toes pointing out together.

 

Jowd had said something about nerves, and Alma nodded her head silently, calmly, in a way that seemed to make everything all right. There were no awkward questions, no strange accusations. Just Jowd and Alma, sitting happy and tired beside him. Alma's hand in Jowd's, and Jowd's hand on Cabanela's thigh.

 

“I've had a bit to drink,” Jowd said, though he really hadn't drunk that much. Er, not that Cabanela had been watching him.

 

“Is that so, dear? We should ask a friend to drive us home, then.” Alma smiled, and stood, drawing Jowd up and giving Cabanela a tender look.

 

“Well, baby, lucky for you, I happen to be your man tonight.”

 

The real problem, Cabanela realised, running his tongue along his teeth as he drove Jowd's car to his new, newlywed house, was that he was always being torn between two extremes.

 

That when he was conflicted, he felt paralysed.

 

That he had no idea how to choose whom to kiss first.


End file.
